


Your City Gave Me Asthma

by since_I_saw_vienna



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Asthma, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Toby Smith | Tubbo, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29753358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/since_I_saw_vienna/pseuds/since_I_saw_vienna
Summary: Tommy can feel the ash in his lungs. It clings to his clothes and skin and coats him inside and out. Its poison is in his blood, its weight is in his chest.OR; Tommy develops asthma living in Pogtopia
Relationships: Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 14
Kudos: 255





	Your City Gave Me Asthma

Tommy has never liked Pogtopia much.

It's always oddly cold or damp or otherwise uncomfortable. The ravine never really drains right, leaving them with cool, stagnant puddles and wet boots after it rains. They never have enough blankets, only thin, scratchy squares. Tommy is always cold in Pogtopia. He'd never been a fan of the cold. 

It isn't all bad, though. Not really. Not when the blankets mean he has an excuse to steal Techno's spare cloak. Not when the rain provides a brief reprieve from the ash clogging the air, washing it away until it inevitably filters back in. Tommy forgets what it's like to not taste ash on his tongue, to not feel it in his lungs. Even when the air is clear, it clings to his clothes and settles into his skin. He knows it by the way Tubbo grimaces every time they hug. He smells of ash. 

Wilbur smells of ash, too. He can even pick out the stench on Techno's pristine robes. They all reek of it. He pretends not to notice the smell of gunpowder mixed into the heavy ash of Wilbur's coat, the white fur of Techno's gown.

(Secretly, he wonders if gunpowder clings to his clothes, too. He wonders if that's why Tubbo cringes when they hug.)

He's arguing with Wilbur when he first realizes something is wrong. They're locked in another quarrel, so routine at that point (though the thought makes his heart twinge), Techno watching on with a blank face. He sucks in a breath to let out an angry shout, to scream at his brother in the hopes of being heard (he doesn't know if he wants Wilbur to listen to him or if he just wants his brother's attention). The words are whisked from his mouth as he chokes, forgotten as he struggles to breathe. He collapses into a fit of coughs, wheezing as they rack his thin frame. He notes, dully, Wilbur's eyes widening as he realizes they aren't lessening. Tommy just sinks to the ground, clawing weakly at his chest. It feels like someone has shoved cotton into his lungs, chest alight in dry pain. He sees Techno move out of the corner of his eye. 

Wilbur is on him quickly, grabbing at his wrists and sinking into his field of vision. "Tommy? Tommy, what's wrong?" His voice rings with panic, eyes shooting wide in worry. Tommy can almost pretend he's a kid again, wailing with scraped knees as his older brother comforts him. The bags under Wilbur's eyes and the scent of smoke bring him back to the present. He almost laughs at the fact that  _ this _ is what it took for Wilbur to care about him. Instead, he lets out another choking wheeze. He's been coughing for days, weeks even, but never as bad as this.

It's just so goddamn  _ cold  _ in the fucking pit. All he can feel is hard stone beneath him and dry fire in his lungs. It burns but he is so, so cold. Faintly, he wonders if this is what it feels like to drown. He registers, again, that Wilbur is calling his name. He can't hear it over his own wretched coughing. There is soot staining the stone beneath him. 

A heavy weight settles across his shoulders, and Tommy recognizes it as Techno's cloak. The fabric is thick and expensive, lined in fur that tickles his neck. He can barely focus on it through the coughing. All he can think is that he  _ can't breathe _ . His mind is rife with panic as wheezes and great, shuddering coughs tear from his throat, like something is ripping the air from his lungs. Squeezing the life from him. It is too much and too little all at once. He can feel Wilbur's hands on him, hear his panicked words. He can't make them out over his own clamoring thoughts. 

Shakily, Tommy fists his hands into Wilbur's coat and brings himself close. He can feel tears pricking at his eyes as his brother stares on in increasing worry. He thinks, for a second, that he can smell the old scent of pine and parchment that once clung to Wilbur. It passes, and all he can smell is ash and smoke and gunpowder. It is all he ever smells anymore, ever present. Tommy shakes in his brother's arms, gasping for air as terse words ring out above him. 

_"Wilbur,"_ he chokes out, grip tightening, "Will, I can't breathe _._ " His brother tenses beneath him, shifting to clutch him tighter to his chest. " _Why can't I_ _breathe?_ " It comes out in gasping sobs, tears running down his face as air refuses to enter his lungs. There's too much ash. It settles into his lungs and fills up the empty space until there is no room left for air. He can feel it heavy in his chest. 

"Shhh Tommy, it's going to be okay, alright? It's going to be okay," Wilbur soothes him, voice wavering. He sounds almost like he did before the war. Tommy can only let out a wheeze in response.

He feels himself leave the ground, strong arms under his knees. Distantly, he wonders how Wilbur is carrying him if his hand is still clutched in Tommy's own. The thought passes with another round of coughing, replaced with a wave of panic. Wilbur's voice mingles with the ringing in his ears, but he has a feeling the older man is babbling in nonsensical worry. 

After some time where all Tommy can focus on is the lack of air in his lungs, he feels himself drop onto a mattress. It's just as thin as his own, though the layers of blankets lain on top make it less uncomfortable. It must be every single one they havr. He clutches at his chest again, sucking in a strained breath. Techno's cape hangs heavy around his shoulders, wrapping his thin frame easily. There isn't much to eat in Pogtopia, only potatoes. It's always potatoes.

His chest feels oddly heavy, clogged. The small breaths he manages rattle as they leave his lips. He can hear Wilbur now. The man has a hand in Tommy's hair, murmuring apologies and reassurances alike. He's surprised to find Technoblade settled to his other side, face painted in uncharacteristic worry. The chill in his bones lifts slightly. His family is here. 

"Are you good, there, kid?" Techno asks, voice gruff as he leans forward. Tommy can only nod faintly, hand still gripping the front of his shirt tightly. 

"Do you think he's sick?" Wilbur worries, face pinched and brown eyes wide. It's the same face he used to wear when Tommy was young. (he's still young, but that's beside the point)

The back of Techno's hoofed hand meets his forehead, and the hybrid shakes his head. "He hasn't got a fever," he mumbles, appraising Tommy like one of his battle plans laid out before him. 

Tommy lets out a little cough, dry and weak. His body is tired, and there is still a heavy, fuzzy weight in his chest, but his throat is no longer closing over his words. "'M fine," he forces out, but makes no effort to move. Is it so wrong to want to be taken care of? 

"You couldn't breathe, Tommy!" Wilbur shouts, an almost hysterical edge to his voice. "you just- you just dropped to the floor-" Techno cuts him off by resting a hand on his shoulder. 

"Have you been having trouble breathing, Tommy?" His older brother asks, voice steady and flat as always. 

The boy shrugs, glancing away. His chest is always heavy, nowadays. "'Guess so," he mutters, eyes roaming over dark smudges on stone. "It's all dusty down here n' shit, isn't it?" 

A conflicted look passes over Wilbur's face, pain flashing behind his eyes, and Tommy knows he understands. Wilbur feels the ash in the air, too. (He knows Tommy is here because of him.  _ For _ him. Good) Techno looks away. "I suppose." 

Tommy lets out a sigh, wincing as it catches in his lungs. Wilbur's eyes never leave him, wide and brown and full of guilt and fear and pain. Tommy wishes he would stop looking at him like that. 

"I feel it," he says, nearly a whisper, the faintest hint of fear coloring his voice. "In my lungs." Techno's eyes snap back to him, almost perfectly unreadable. Tommy has known Techno as long as he has known himself, though, and he can see the fear in the tenseness of his shoulders, the concern in the tightness of his jaw. Remorse? Anger? Guilt? There is something behind his eyes that Tommy can't bring himself to decipher.

"Feel what?" Wilbur asks, but Tommy sees it in his face that he already knows. He just doesn't want to believe it.Technoblade remains silent.

"Ash," he rumbles, and the weight in his lungs is suffocating. It reminds him of tnt and fireworks and cigarette smoke, and he can almost taste it on his tongue. He is coated in ash, inside and out, and he can feel its poison in his blood and Its weight in his chest. The scent has long since been all he can smell, everything else dampened under the ash that clings to his clothes and skin and  _ soul.  _ It has left its mark on Tommy in a way that he will never escape.

Wilbur flinches back, the pained expression flashing over his face again. Guilt. He looks stricken, and Tommy can only find a little satisfaction in it. Mostly he is numb.

Technoblade's eyes harden, gazing somewhere Tommy can't trace. Tommy lets out a little sigh, tugging his older brother's cape tighter around his shoulders. He reaches out to catch the edge of Wilbur's coat sleeve. 

"Just stay with me," he says, voice quiet. "I'm tired." Wilbur's eyes find him in a mix of anguish and guilt and self loathing, and he nods. 

"Of course, Toms." 

Technoblade only settles down in a chair to his right, back leaning against the wall and eyes on the entrance to the little room. He will stay.

Tommy shifts over and Wilbur crawls into the space beside him, arms as strong and sure around him as they've always been despite all he's done. And it isn't quite forgiveness, but it isn't hatred, either, because they are brothers and Tommy is far too tired for grudges. 

Wilbur smells like ash and gunpowder, but so does everything else, too. It is acrid and painful, but the scent of pine and old parchment is muddled underneath it, and for a moment Tommy can smell it again. 

They are not alright, Tommy isn't sure if they ever will be again, but they are family. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually one of the first fics I ever wrote for mcyt, I just finally finished and polished it up 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Comments are appreciated !


End file.
